


Lost Once, Found Later

by tryslora



Series: A Kind of Magic [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Buying of Babies, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Curses, F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Whittemores buy a child who is guaranteed to be pure. Jackson knows he’s not, and goes looking for the answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Once, Found Later

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Prompt #6 - Family at fullmoon_ficlet at Livejournal. Also, I do not own the characters or world of Teen Wolf; I just like to play with them.

The look David Whittemore gives is baleful enough, _strong_ enough to make anyone quiver, even a Hit Wizard with ten years on the force. “You guarantee that his blood is pure,” Whittemore says quietly.

In a rush, the Hit Wizard nods. “Definitely. The purest.” He holds out the paperwork, carefully collected, removed from the DMLE and taken from the child’s at St. Mungo’s. “There are no blots nor incursions of unclean blood anywhere on his tree.”

Emma Whittemore watches her husband, waiting to see if he can read the other wizard’s tell. The Hit Wizard is lying, but she will not stop this adoption over a matter of blood. David cares about such things; she simply wants this child to be her son. To be the child that she is unable to bear naturally. She doesn’t care who he is or where he came from, as long as he is magical. “David,” she chides gently. “Do stop interrogating the poor man and complete the transaction. The boy is likely cold and hungry, and one should never let an infant go for long without contact.”

She can see the child, swaddled and in a basket, and at the moment sleeping peacefully. He is a beautiful one, his features perfect, his skin unmarred. Whatever it is in his past, it has not affected his looks. Were one to glance, one would see purity and only that.

David takes the records, and with one flick of his wand, they are destroyed. He gestures at the bag on the table, and the Hit Wizard backs up, collecting the sack of galleons and pocketing it quickly as if David might change his mind.

“By the terms of our contract, if you speak to anyone outside of this room about this transaction, your life will be forfeit.” David smiles, a sharp grin, full of teeth. “And I assure you, the curse linked to your vow is quite painful indeed.”

“David,” Emma says, and her husband calms. She shoos the other man towards the door. They are done with him now. He has served his purpose and she is more than ready for him to exit her life. She doesn’t even know his name, nor does she care. The child is all that is important.

She and David are alone in the room when she finally bends to take the child from his basket, cradling him fondly in her arms. She summons the bottle which waits in the kitchen and holds it to his lips, smiling as the boy eagerly takes his meal.

“Jackson,” she says, and it is not a suggestion. David may think he is the head of this family, but truly it is Emma Whittemore who is in charge. She has named their son, and they will now move forward as Whittemores together.

#

Jackson’s heart beats so fast he feels as if it could break out of the cage that is his chest. He wraps his hands around the old and grizzled Hit Wizard’s throat, fingers pressing tight. He can feel the red fury rising behind his eyes, begging to be let out, and he struggles with it. A gasp from his prey only makes him squeeze harder.

It is Lydia’s hand on his arm that pulls him back from the brink. “Darling, if you strangle him, he can’t possibly tell you anything,” she points out.

She has a point, and his hand relaxes. He feels the man’s throat move as he drags in a ragged breath. Jackson leans in; he is only 15 but he is taller than the man, and somehow stronger as well. “Who are my parents?” he growls.

“I’d think you’d know that already!” the man gasps.

Lydia tsks. “I wouldn’t anger him,” she suggests. “Jackson is already quite on edge, and if it turns out you have no useful information for him, I likely won’t be able to stop him from destroying you. Now, if you please, tell him where you found him in order to bring him to the Whittemores.”

The man pales, shivering beneath Jackson’s hand. “I can’t. It’s death. _Death_.”

Jackson’s smile slashes thinly across his face. “My mother gave me the terms of the curse, and she told me where to find you. By those terms, you cannot speak to anyone who was _not_ in that room. _I_ was there.”

His eyes skate to Lydia. “She wasn’t.”

Jackson nods. “Go.” She hesitates, and Jackson has to promise not to kill him before she willingly steps from the room. As the door closes, he waits.

When no answer comes, Jackson’s grip tightens, squeezing carefully. The anger is a red haze and it surrounds him, flooding his vision. He remembers Lydia to bring himself back, and whispers, “I don’t have much control, and I have no use for you if you cannot tell me. The records were destroyed. Tell me who they were, and you will live.”

“Miller,” the wizard blurts. “Their name was Miller. I don’t remember the rest.”

Jackson frowns. “There’s no pureblood family named Miller.”

The wizard pales at that. “I… I’ve told you what you need. Just let me be now.”

Lydia comes in when she hears Jackson call her name. He is crouched over the wizard and for a moment she fears the worst, but when she checks for a pulse, he is just unconscious. Jackson is shaking, and she reassures him that it is not his fault, that they will find a way through it.

Jackson doesn’t know if he believes her. There is a monster inside of him, and he thought knowing where he came from would help him understand why. But it has told him nothing new, nothing special. He is still dangerous. “They aren’t anyone special,” he says, voice low.

“ _You_ are special,” Lydia tells him firmly, kissing him. “We’ll find them. We’ll figure this out together. And we’ll find your real family.”

If he didn’t need to find them, didn’t need to know what he was, Jackson wouldn’t care. Some days he thinks that Lydia’s all he really needs. She knows him, she chose him. She is truer to him than anyone who calls him family.


End file.
